Girl above the chinese restaurant
by RchHghr
Summary: Everyone blended into society. Zack somehow knew where everyone was hiding. This is the story of how he went and saw Tinga for the first time.


Hello Everyone! I see that there are, well there aren't any stories, and at least that I have not seen that show how Zack visited the other X5's and or kept in contact with them. I'm going to try a story of how he went and saw Tinga for the first time. This takes place a few years before the Pilot episode of the show. I hope you enjoy. Also, I think my sister is right. I do write the way I talk.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't even own my College books. They are second hand which I will return because I hate the stupid classes. The classes are for stupid kids, and nobody can say else why. Yes, I am calling myself stupid in the sense of not trying my best. I can't try my best when I don't actually give a damn about the stupid school. I'm going to school; I don't want to actually have to do homework of answering questions about it. I seriously could care less of what services the school has to offer.

Sorry for rambling.

-

-

The smell of bread never gets old. Penny smiled to herself as she made her evening walk home from work. It was eight o' clock, and shop was closed up an hour before. In nine hours though, she has to go back because Sunday mornings were the day she worked the first shift. Her other days were worked noon to seven. Being a very "skilled" and confident worker, as well as being very multi-task able she shined in the eyes of her manager. He could not understand how someone remembered everything off the top of their head; knew where everything was and was able to accomplish what took him of three days to finish in half a day. He trusted her, so he gave her a key, and she opened up on Sunday mornings.

Turning the corner about seven blocks from her job her building came into view as well as the Chinese Restaurant Dragon Earrings which she lived above. The building was very broken, but it was a home none the less where she did not have to worry if she would live to see the next day or not. She didn't have to worry whether or not she'd have enough food or have to hurt someone; even worst, kill. She's a free woman, and that's all that mattered to her.

Tightening her neck scarf which everyone just thought was her trademark style, really not, she zipped up the black jacket which she really should throw out, but could not part with. It has so many holes and is stretched, but actually having something she didn't want to part with it because she would be without something. She wasn't to the point of hording yet, but she was glad to actually have something.

As the chill of the early winter night brushed up she put the hood on, and held onto the bag of day old rolls in her hand as she quickened her step. A nice cup of tea was called for, and to watch the last episode of the Soap Opera, The Last Flower, she grew so accustomed to watching every Saturday night at eleven 'o clock. No matter what got in the way she was still going to watch it at the time.

Something suddenly made her look around as her eyes scanned the area. Her eyes focused onto her apartment since it mostly faced the busy street of cars and people who hustled everywhere in such a hurry she wondered if they ever forgot where they were going. The building didn't catch her attention per say, but the window of her living room which looked right onto the fire escape where her neighbor had a giant bag of soil. The storm window was lifted as high as it could go. The screen was shut, but the storm? Her mind never failing her yet she did not recall leaving a window open. The weather was too chilly to leave windows open. She tried to keep as much warmth in the house because she could not afford a lot, and the heat, if she used any at all cost an arm and a leg.

On a warmer occasion it would be okay to leave the window open because she lived above a Chinese Food restaurant, and there was no way anyone could- this statement died as she indicated herself mentally. She could access that window simply. Maybe somebody of the same ability broke in.

It was then she instantly went into defense mode. They had come! They took something from her. They could still be in there. They wanted to take her back. She could run the minute she saw this action, but she didn't. If they had come for her then they would not drop the trail if she wasn't home. If they wanted information they would go to the people around her. Someone could get hurt, or worse killed. She couldn't let innocent people die on her account. They didn't know that a transgenic killing machine was living in 2D while they were living in 2C.

The bag still tight in her hand she acted as she normally did and walked to the door which leads to the staircase where the apartments were. She pulled it open. She used to have to open it with a key, but what with all the drug dealers, drunks and bums always pulling it because they lost a key they finally stripped the lock that now only closed, and didn't lock. Any Tom, Dick or Harry could walk off the street at any time and seek shelter in the hallway, or pull the fate of the front door.

The hall was as grimy as the outside appearance. The rail and stairs had the impression that they were painted again and again by the same blue paint. There were the usual kids in the hallway playing a game of, so they called it, Suicide Hall. They threw the ball, and it could not bounce to the ground, otherwise you got pegged with it. Those kids were rough on each other, but when she entered they always stopped and say hello.

She waved and walked the two flights of steps. Her door, door 2D was closed and the same as she left it. There didn't appear to be any damage, or lock picking. She would know this because she was an expert thank you very much.

The gentleman is 2C just opened the door and was ready to walk out when she decided to question him in seeing if he saw anything.

"Hello Tommy."

He put his bag down on the ground closing his door. He withdrew the key from his pocket before turning to her and smiling.

"Good evening Penny," he greeted warmly. He was as close a friend, as she had in this building. She didn't want to get to comfortable with people she was afraid to lose. She kept to herself, most of the time and just went to work. You know, trying to be normal when everything, but anything inside of her wasn't normal.

"Uh, did anybody stop by to leave anything, or come by my door," she questioned unsure how to ask. She couldn't just say, _Hey Tommy, any day now I don't know when, but some guys are trying to kill me, and they will find me. Did they stop by when I was out?_

He shook his head after pondering it for a second.

"Thank you," she said, and withdrew her own key from her battered jeans and put it through the lock. Pushing the door open slowly she scanned quickly, because the place wasn't big anyways. Her eyes instantly landed on the window. Somebody had definitely been in her apartment. The box that was below the window, whoever was there before tried to step on the box for support, but stepped a little too hard and fell into the box. The clothes inside were probably dirty because of their grimy shoes.

Turning on the sitting room light by a switch on the wall she took off her jacket throwing it onto the couch. The home was just as she left it, cold. The heat wasn't on and she estimated the temperature to be below thirty-five degrees. She would soon develop a cold, she could handle, but a giant bill was way out of the question. Besides, she was quite used to it because she had to endure a poor life ever since she reached freedom. Freedom came with a price, and the way she was going, soon she wouldn't be able to afford it anymore.

The bag of day old bread she brought from work, bag and all was tossed into a basket in the kitchen before she went back into the sitting room. Taking the braid out of her long, cascading dark hair she ruffled it with her hands. She stopped instantly though because her hands went from her hair to the air in fists. Mister big shot has come back to play, on the fire escape was a dark figure facing her window.

Quick speed, a flash she was to the window pulling up the screen bringing her foot up to kick them right off the fire escape. They grabbed her foot and twisted so she flew back and landed on the ground in a heap. She got up quickly though, and the figure came fully into the room holding out their hand, and the other pulling his hood down.

Her eyes widened as her defense took a decline. She could not believe who she was seeing. This had to be a trick. There was just no way. Eyes narrowing, her fists tightly clenched she barked angrily, "Who are you!?"

The man sat on the sill of the window keeping his eyes on her. He didn't look happy or angry. He looked straight forward, no emotion. He wasn't surprised or scanning her with very observant eyes.

That was the way Zack was, she thought keeping her eyes clear of emotion.

He broke the staring contest and looked at the raised storm window, and tapped it with his hand.

"Not very secure," he speculated.

"Says the transgenic," Penny said and folded her arms going into a new stage, a closed book. She wasn't going to let him know any more than he already knew that she was surprised. She was not to let him know anything because if he read her, then he knew everything that he needed to know, and could simply destroy her.

It was Zack. His face never changed, but he did turn older. He had hair as well, dirty blood that came down to his eyes. He seemed the same, as when they escaped. He was there, alive!

She felt sheepish for spacing out; she saw that he had closed the window.

"Not going to invite me in?" he questioned walking up to her anyways. The home was freezing and they both knew it. Their breaths were visible, and the chill was not going unnoticed, especially by the _guest. _

"Damn, don't you have any heat in here?"He questioned. He opted to take off his coat but left it on.

"No." she answered simply with a shrug. She went over to him and put her arms around him in a light hug.

He looked straight ahead past her before he put his arms around her lightly.

Tears from years of worrying, and of pondering, and hoping she now knew that one had made it. Zack was alive. That must mean that Max, Jondy, Brin and the rest must be out there and alive. They must've blended into society, and became simple workers just like her. One could've become a mechanic, or even a circus performer.

_Circus performer, _she mused _we'd all fit in there. We are all freaks of nature anyways._

"I'm so glad you're alive," she said pulling away and holding onto his wrists to get a view of him fully. She could not believe his hair. He said he would never grow his hair that long. She had hair as well, never cut it since the escape. No one would suspect a soldier with very long hair. Manticore would least expect it.

"You've sure made this place home," his face was stone serious. He didn't look at all happy to see her. How would he know that she lived here? She changed her name. He couldn't possibly know out of sheer luck. There was no such thing as luck for them. There was only chance and chance alone.

She dropped her hold and stood straight as he was and folded her arms. He finds her and all he can say is that she made herself a life!? Wasn't that what they were supposed to be doing? Wasn't the objective to make a better life than in the walls of Manticore? It was his idea in the first place, and he was leader.

"It's called being flexible," she stated as serious as if that was an order to herself.

"Flexible," he questioned stonily and folded his arms leaning on his back foot more that the front. Raising his face as if he couldn't believe that she had just said that, he knew she could duke it out just like him.

"I have an open mind. I've adapted well to change, and have opened myself to a new strategy," she spoke confidently as he looked even madder. His eyes darkened and he squinted his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. He tried to see into her view.

"Try not getting attached, you're a SOLDIER," he emphasized angrily. The entire training she learned, she wanted to forget.

"Not anymore," she spat. She turned and went into the kitchen where she turned on the light, and took her frustration out on making herself a cup of tea as well as buttering up a roll.

Why was he like that? They were all to have a better life. She was tired of running, and having somewhere to finally call home he wanted her to not have it. She was not having it that way anymore. No more soldier, a calm, quiet life, she wanted that. A family would be nice, and friends. But, she couldn't have that. She had to live like the life of a criminal; always looking over her shoulder and never thinking twice about talking about someone. That someone could be the one to trap, and ship her back. It wasn't fair, but life wasn't fair. She was made differently for a life that hated anything different. If something didn't follow the normal code of life, then they wanted it disposed of to not create an unset balance in the life of post pulse drama.

Tossing the knife into the sink with precision she turned off the kettle that started to whistle. She brought it over to a cup with a tea bag.

Zack, deciding to take off his coat anyways came to the doorway. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He stood there unsure of what to do, but the emotions stood the same as the living room. Good thing, though, he didn't say anything to cause any more arguing.

"Why isn't there any heat? You know how to work a thermostat?" he questioned seriously.

She continued making the snack not looking at him. Sarcastically she replied, "Didn't know you cared." Attitude clear in view, she thought, _if you're not going to approve of my life then I won't approve of you finding me. It's easy to block out a memory, and forget. I should know, been doing it for years now._

And besides, he wasn't leader anymore. His rule wasn't law.

"Do you want a cup of tea," she questioned carelessly really not caring if he did or not. It was no skin off her nose.

"Yeah, sure," he said. There was no table to the small room. He stood against the counter and watched her while she finished and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said.

"Your welcome," she grabbed her plate and cup and went into the other room. He didn't follow suit at first, but after a while she heard him put the cup in the sink, switch off both lights and come into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed and looked around.

Penny wondered what he was looking for in her room. Was he expecting to see guns or something? He wasn't going to see anything out of the ordinary unless he—she sat up. From planting herself in front of the television she knew what he was looking at. He wasn't looking at the television, which sat dangerously on a plastic crate ready to fall at any moment. He wasn't looking at the bed that went from a couch, which she saw was carelessly left in the hallway. A few adjustments and it was hers. He was, though looking at the broken dresser which the last two drawers did not open. The whole dresser was scratched up, and looked like junk. If he opened the drawer he would see all her possession stuffed into it, and a lot was stuffed into it.

The top was where he got up and went over to. She knew exactly what he was looking at and cursed herself for not clearing it before. On top was about seven to ten empty bottles of Tryptophan. Only one bottle had one tablet remaining in it.

He turned back to where she was sitting on the bed and held the only bottle which had one tablet in it. He questioned this action wondering how much this lasted for, and why she didn't just throw the bottles away.

"If I knew I was going to have company I would've cleaned up," she went right over to him. He turned right in front of her after dropping it back onto the dresser. This time he grabbed her wrists and looked at her. She was proud of her favorite feature, her hair. That was her best quality, even when it was messy. And she had control over it. No one could tell her how to put it or what length she should have it. It was the only thing she controlled. She couldn't control her body when it shook. She had to drop to the wall and hold herself from getting out of control. If she didn't have any tryptophan she had to worry because when the condition was bad she was not at her full strength and would instantly blow her cover if trying to break in and steal some medicine.

"So how bad are they," he questioned in her face with what sounded like he was tantalizing her, or third-degree questioning her. It felt very weird for her, she couldn't explain it. It was something in her gut that told her to walk away from him. He shouldn't be here. Her arm started to shake slowly and she folded it as if she was in stance. She could play off the action. She practiced so many times when she had to go to work and was have tremors.

"If you're going to stay here you're welcomed to take a shower, and you can sleep on the bed," she said bringing her inner feeling to a whole new level. She was going to play as if he was just coming to her house to just visit her. It could be like an old friend from high school; the ones she saw on a television show she watched before.

He was going to respond, she could see but he shrugged and nodded. He went off to the other room. When she was sure he was taking a shower she took the last pill out of the bottle and swallowed it quickly not caring that she jabbed her throat in the process. She felt that she couldn't tell him that the seizures were bad lately. She couldn't tell him that she was nearly caught when she was bad in the back room at work. She shook until she downed some tryptophan.

While he was in there she changed into the only pair of pajamas she had; a pair of red tinted plaid pants which were big around the waist. She had to roll them up which posed another problem. Her ankles showed. Her shirt was the same print. It was actually the top coat to the pajamas. The black tank-top she wore to work was what went under it.

He didn't have any pajamas. When he came back after taking a shower he was in a pair of shorts. Didn't he feel cold? Here she was clad in warm clothing, and he was just in a pair of shorts. Maybe she should actually turn on the heat.

She did. She went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Manticore did a good job on all their physical appearance. Zack was pleasing to the eye. If only she knew what the rest looked like, if they were still alive. Maybe Brin had long hair she dyed purple. Krit could've stayed with little to no hair. If pained her to not know anything about them. The whole plan was great, but the thought of everyone she knew was somewhere and she did not know.

Brushing her hair down, it puffed halfway down her back. She went back into the room to find him reading something in his hands. What could he be reading?

The thought hit her at once. Charlie! She sped to him and saw the little paper with the phone number on it. She tried to take it but he held it tightly in his fist.

"Who's Charlie?" he questioned not liking to actually know the answer.

The phone rang. She went and grabbed it before he even had time to ask her if that was him on the phone.

"Hello," she questioned, and he watched as she smiled and her face lighted heartedly. She began to talk to her friend she felt very close to, a feeling that she hadn't had in a long time. He told her everything about himself and she just felt the instant connection. Being honest with herself she never thought she'd see her brothers and sisters again. Charlie, he was someone who could fill the empty place in her heart. He was a very special person in her heart.

As she listened to something that happened to him a few days ago she looked to see what Zack felt about her whole fiasco. He did not look pleased. In fact, he looked pissed. Arms folded across his chest he looked another emotion that she thought he was feelings; astonished.

"Aw, honey you should've just gave them the money," she spoke and with her feet that laid out ahead of herself she took her right foot trying to scoot him off the bed so he would stop staring. From the word honey he looked to the stand where the phone was parked ready to break it off the wall.

"That's okay, when I see soon I'll make it all better," she giggled not daring to look at her childhood soldier brother. He was the protective one. If this got out of hand he would definitely find some way to get her out of there to never look back.

-

After hanging up with an interesting display of a goodbye she turned to Zack who was now seated on the bed but against the wall. Legs crossed, and arms, he shook his head at her.

"Now you're just being careless. You're getting too comfortable with everything around here. Did you forget the whole idea of escape? It's to not get caught again. You're making it pretty easy to find you, soldier. You know better than this! Why don't you get it through your head? You can blow your cover just by simply living here. It was not hard to get up here."

"I've made myself well discreet," she denounced to his level. Her attitude was all in it. Since hanging up the phone she sat on the edge of the bed turning over her shoulder to yell at him.

"I'm not going to run anymore. I think, I think I am going to be happy now. I'm normal as normal as I can be in front of everyone else. Nobody expects anything of me to happen. Nobody sees that I can jump a fence and fight without the sweat. Everyone sees me as Pe- Tinga, the girl who works in the bakery."

"It should be the girl who wants to get caught," he added. His eyes strayed away from her a moment to the television set. Even though it showed snags and zips the picture was quite clear to understand what she was watching. An advertisement said that _The Last Flower_ season finale was up next. The credits to the previous show rolled in.

His attention went back to her.

"It's called being self motivated. I know what I want and will strive to accomplish my goals. In case you have not noticed, you haven't, but I am emotionally intelligent. I control my impulses. I don't allow my feelings to control me."

A pitchy love song erupted from the television and she glued her eyes to the television. He came off the wall and sat directly behind her on his knees. In the dark she could see what he was doing. Since her hair was down he moved it to one side of her neck to check her barcode.

This was the second time tonight that he was doing this. She looked back at him, and he spoke with his eyes sadly before he moved her hair back. This was another thing that made her uncomfortable. First, he questioned about her seizures, second, now, he was checking on her barcode. Why? Did he not believe that it was her in the flesh?

He laid down as the show began. She did as well except she lay right in front of the television. Her eyes stayed on the screen as she slid the only pillow on the bed to him. She wasn't sleeping now, and she didn't think that he was going to watch a show like this with her. He would probably have some sexist comment about her and her priorities.

"We can talk some more after this show," she said to him. He nodded, she could see from her line of vision. As the show showed about a woman falling apart from her lover leaving her, she couldn't help but keep an eye on Zack. Although he was lying on his back he was very alert and freighted sleep. If his eye lids even made contact he'd burst them open to look around. Every time the bed creaked by her movement he'd jolt. Was he expecting something to happen? He watched her when he wasn't fighting sleep.

Nothing was going to happen. Nobody knew about her. Nobody knew that girl in 2D was an enhanced killing machine. If the slightest questioning of her filtered through the air she was out of there. Maybe somewhere hot would be in the picture. She could sure go for a nice life on a beach where the temperature didn't dip past the zero mark, and heat was not an option in the home at all.

"You can sleep, you know that," she said as a commercial in another language filled the screen. She looked to see that he was looking at the ceiling. He was probably trying to figure out how many small cracks were there. She did that on some occasion and came to the conclusion that it was an constant change. Every week new cracks formed.

"Somewhere like this?" he said quietly considering that he was in fact tired, and dangerously close to sleep.

She nodded.

"If anyone was to come rushing through the window in the living room I will be sure to wake you so you don't miss a beat," there was so much sarcasm in this she could not miss the smirk that threatened to escape his lips.

He nodded and rolled onto his side facing the wall. He was in fact cold. She could see this. He was doing a great deal in hiding it. He would never admit it. He could do without it, but what she learned from television was that you had to be kind to your guests. One night couldn't hurt with the heat.

Crawling out of bed, she went to the living room and adjusted the thermostat to sixty-eight degrees and went back into bed. The moth eaten blanket that lay crumpled at the end of the bed; she lightly put it on big brother. With the warmth he should be able to knock out and stop bothering her. If it came down to the annoyance of a vein in her forehead she would knock him out.

"You use it," he said sleepily.

He was still fighting it.

"When my program is over, I will be more than happy to roll you off my bed, take the blanket and make you sleep out on the fire escape. You can keep watch all night; to your heart's content," she waved her hand at his turned form. Her program returned and all was silent.

Almost three quarters the way done she heard the snore of her brother. He was finally asleep. Maybe she wouldn't have to talk the rest of the night. Maybe he'll stay asleep long enough to know that she was safe where she was, and that he did not have to worry. Did he do this to the others?

The others!? Maybe he knew where they were. This question would be asked in the morning if she was not trying to prove to him that he had nothing to worry about. She was a big girl. Her childhood taught her to prepare for the worse; the worse, her childhood. It was a double negative. The two things completed each other.

-

Once the show was over she turned off the television and wiped her eyes. It was so romantic how the guy found that she did not care what he did in his past, all that mattered now was their future. If that could happen on television, then it could happen in real life. A poor life, a post-pulse life where everything was screwed up could be a whole lot better with love in one's life. Charlie, her _friend, _could actually prove to her that the past didn't matter……..if only she could find the guts within her to tell him. If they ever got married she would tell him everything.

Taking off the top coat of the pajamas she used it as a blanket for her upper body. Zack was asleep, and she was not going to rob the blanket off of him in fear that he would wake up and continue from where they left off. Instead, she would do what they did as kids when they were out in the snow, in the night on a mission game which left them to fend for themselves, and their team. Backing up against his back she pressed herself as close to him as she could. Body heat kept them warm. On those nights they hurled together like the family they were. Like a pack of wolves they made sure that all their own were protected from the cold winter's night chill.

His instincts were quick. He knew what she was getting at and turned over onto his other side facing her back. He brought her as close to him as he could and put the blanket over both of them. Old habits don't die hard because he put his arms around her tightly in a protective manner. If anything was going to get her they knew that they were going to have to get through him as well.

There was no problem in her mind about this. They were both soldiers and protected their own. She didn't worry about Charlie because when, _if, _they became serious he would protect the woman he thought to, by manly instinct to protect. Right now she had big brother, paranoid big brother, who must've dreamed of childhood, and stuck by that standard protect her just like the night they were abandoned in the forest, late at night to fend for themselves, but by their standard, their own.

-

That's it for Tinga. Tell me what you think.


End file.
